The Palmer Method
by Cedar
Summary: As an initiated Death Eater, Percy Weasley faces the challenge of performing the Killing Curse for the first time in front of Lord Voldemort. A single moment will declare his talent as well as his character.


**Disclaimer:** All the characters and places in this work belong to J.K. Rowling and the large corporations with which she is associated. No money is being made from this work and no copyright infringement is intended.  


**Author's notes**: Many thanks go to Gryph, Malfoi, and Molly Moon for beta reading. Please note that this fic is a sequel to another fic of mine, "Swords to Plowshares," and therefore contains spoilers.  


Invented in the early 1900's by A.N. Palmer, the Palmer Method of Business Handwriting emphasized many repetitions of loops and letter formations, exercising the small muscles of the hand and wrist. Properly executed, the handwriting style was loose and flowing. I chose the title for this fic because Percy, through his repetitions and emphasis on relaxation, learns the Killing Curse much in the way that my grandmother learned the Palmer Method of Business Handwriting.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


  
_Avada._   


The word was long through my throat, soaring in my head, and I almost passed out from the combination of too much air and the unfamiliar sensation prickling through my nose. The second "a" was longer than the first, resonant in the top of my mouth. Long and open, it had to be perfectly timed in relation to the rest of the phrase for the spell to work. The sounds in this word all matched, pleasing in their symmetry. I could fill a concert hall with the ringing "a"s, every seat occupied with a life I could control. We practiced in his study, facing each other across his desk. He made me stand in a space he had cleared for the purpose of our lessons, and the freedom of space allowed every inch of my body to expand with the air I would use to separate life from death.   


_Kedavra._   


The first "a" was different from the others. I had to pull my lips back and tighten the muscles in my jaw to hold the sound for the proper length of time, but it was still vibrant. Like the first word, this one had a long second syllable. The "v" and the "r" were harder to separate than I thought they would be, requiring a fast change in the shape of my lips. Repeated over and over, the words form a cadence, a powerful if malevolent minuet. "He who can master the fine points of the spell's diction, Percy," said Mr. Malfoy, "will master life itself."   


He didn't smile when I added, "Or lack thereof."   


_Avada._   


I had to learn the wand movements separately from the words, and even then, it took some practice to combine the elements to effectively formulate the curse. When I woke the morning after I first started practicing the motions, muscles in my wrist that I didn't even know I had were aching. He had warned me about that. I spent the morning stretching my wrist, cracking the joints, massaging the soreness. Mr. Malfoy harped on me about my physical tension, the tightness in my neck and back and shoulders. If I didn't relax every small muscle fiber, every artery and vein and blood cell, the spell would never work. If the magic didn't flow perfectly through the body of the one casting the curse, the recipient might not die for minutes, even hours. The curse was not about torture. Only a quick, painless death would prove the caster's skill.   


_Kedavra._   


"Do you know why they came to be called the Unforgivable Curses?"   


"No, sir."   


"It is our nature to value our independence and freedoms above all other things in life," said Mr. Malfoy, folding his hands on his desk and looking into my eyes. "We as wizards cannot bear the thought of giving up everything we are, which, as you've come to learn, is not the same as serving another for a greater cause. Do you understand?"   


"I think so, sir." I shifted in my seat, willing my tired mind to curve around his words, learning everything I could about the power I was sure to gain in time.   


"Percy, what do you know about Azkaban?"   


"That I never want to go there." I shuddered just thinking about the horrific stories I'd heard.   


"Why? What's there that makes it so undesirable? Tell me, also, where Azkaban is located." He leaned forward.   


"It's on a small island somewhere, I'm not entirely sure where. Miles out in the North Sea, I think."   


"What else do you know?" he encouraged.   


"I know that it's guarded by dementors. They're so powerful even Muggles can feel them, though only wizards can see them."   


"What gives them their power?"   


"Our thoughts, specifically anything happy. They...they feed on them. They bring our worst thoughts to the surface. I've heard from the other workers at the Ministry that Azkaban is more of a prison for the mind than anything else."   


Mr. Malfoy smiled not a smile of mirth, but a reward for my knowledge. "You're getting ahead of yourself. We'll come back to that. Do you know what happens when a wizard is under a dementor's control for too long?"   


"He'll lose his powers. Go mad. My father told me," I swallowed hard, feeling a chill at the very thought of wasting in a dark cell, welcoming death, "that lots of people who go to Azkaban for long periods of time stop eating, or doing anything else that...that keeps them human. They die of starvation."   


"It's true," he confirmed, his mouth serious but his eyes gleaming. "Even though Azkaban has the dementors, even though no one for years, until Sirius Black, was able to overcome the dementors, break out of the prison, the Ministry still feels the need to put it miles away from land. Why do you think that is?"   


"Possibly to ensure that a wizard will still be trapped there, even if by some hand he is able to keep his sanity."   


"So even if his mind can hold true..." He waited for me to finish the sentence.   


"His body never could. He'd never be able to swim all those miles to shore, not after so much time without physical activity."   


"Over time, prisoners lose their will to live, their hope. They become trapped in their own worst thoughts. And you know what the worst punishment is that they give in Azkaban, correct?"   


For a moment, my mind was blank. I couldn't think of anything that would be worse than living out my final days remembering nothing but the worst moments of my life. Then I remembered. "The Dementor's Kiss. They suck out your soul."   


"And what do you become without a soul?"   


"You...you can't become anything. Your body is just...it's nothing." Mr. Malfoy's words frightened me. Where was he going with this line of questions?   


"In Azkaban, your thoughts, as well as your movements, are restricted, controlled by the dementors. And as the worst possible punishment, a punishment our kind regards as worse than death-"   


"They take your soul. But sir, I don't see what this has to do with the Unforgivable Curses." Somewhere in my mind were the words he wanted me to say, but right now they felt like a thousand-piece puzzle scattered over a table.   


"You should. I've already given you the answers. In three words, what does Azkaban take from a person?"   


How could he have already given me the answers? I wasn't any closer to the reason they were called Unforgivable than I had been five minutes ago! Slowly clenching my fists, barely noticing the pain of my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands, frustrated at my inability to make the connection, I closed my eyes and visualized Azkaban. An island far out to sea, an impossible swim even on the calmest days. Dementors, which left you trapped in a cage of your darkest thoughts and memories. And, if you were deemed the worst kind of offender, the Dementor's Kiss. Three words. Three words. They made sense, and I prayed they were right as I spoke.   


"Body. Mind. Soul."   


Mr. Malfoy leaned back in his chair, relaxing, rewarding my answer. "These curses: the Cruciatus, the Imperius, and the Killing Curse, are considered Unforgivable because the caster takes the recipient's independence, just as Azkaban does to those who are unfortunate enough to serve time there. When you gain the ability to cast one or more of these curses, everything another person is becomes yours to do with as you please. You as an individual deliver punishments that are normally tightly controlled by the wizarding government."   


"It's..." I understood. "Being able to cast the curses means that you have the same power to...imprison people, dictate what they do."   


"Exactly. With the Imperius Curse, you control their mind."   


With a jolt, my thoughts snapped into place. "The Cruciatus Curse, then, controls their body, and the Killing Curse, their soul."   


_Avada._   


With my newfound understanding of the triad of Unforgivable Curses, I broke a barrier in my learning that night. Though the weather was cool and a swift breeze blew through Mr. Malfoy's library, at the end of an hour I had shed my robes and stood barefoot on the rug in front of his desk, shirt drenched in sweat. Halfway through the second hour, my shirt was gone, too, but I kept it nearby to dry my hands. I had been chewing my lip for weeks in concentration, but tonight I bit through, barely noticing until the taste of salt and copper graced my tongue. Over and over I practiced the wand movements, wincing as Mr. Malfoy stood behind me, digging his fingertips into the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I knew I was carrying too much tension there, but his presence made me apprehensive. He reminded me that the strain of having to perform the curse in real time, possibly in front of others, would be a thousand times greater than our practice sessions.   


At one o'clock that morning, he put a spider on the desk in front of me.   


_Kedavra._   


No words were exchanged. I watched the spider scuttle across the desk, and looked over my shoulder at Mr. Malfoy. Closing my eyes, I began to weave the physical and mental disciplines. My breathing slowed, and I felt my shoulders drop as I pictured Mr. Malfoy's desk in front of me, complete with quills, ink, ledgers...and the spider. It was still there when I opened my eyes, running in circles. My vision tunneled, focusing on my target. Magic flowed up through the soles of my feet, through my legs and groin and torso, into my fingertips. Every nerve was aware and spinning, forming an ether of magic around me. My wand grew hot in my hand, and I almost dropped it as I turned my wrist.   


_"Avada Kedavra!"_   


The building column of sound exploded in my lungs and throat, and green light flashed in front of my eyes. The spider stopped moving halfway across one of Mr. Malfoy's ledgers, and I caught myself on the desk as my knees buckled. I had done it! My first time casting, and I had been successful. I was panting, all the sensations in the room I had forced away suddenly threatening to knock me to the ground. I looked to the spider again, just to be sure. It hadn't moved from its spot, yet its body was still perfectly intact. I heard my own voice, but I didn't think I was talking. It felt more like laughter, euphoria. I had done it.   


_Avada._   


I had done it.   


_Kedavra._   


Leaning against the desk, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I judged by the amount of sunlight in the room that it was sometime around noon the next day. I was naked between cool sheets in a spare bedroom at the Malfoy house, my clothes clean and folded on the dresser. Mr. Malfoy was sitting in a high leather chair in the corner of the room. He didn't even say "Good morning" to me when I awoke.   


"Did you know you laughed after you completed the spell, Percy?"   


I pulled the blankets to the middle of my chest, embarrassed to be without my clothing. Stifling a yawn, I answered his question. "Vaguely, sir. I remember...more of a sensation, rather than the act itself. Is that a common reaction?"   


"It is not uncommon. It is a manifestation of the release of the body's tension, a way of clearing yourself of the residues of magic. How much do you know about how a wizard's body reacts to the challenge of performing these high-level curses?"   


"Not as much as I should, sir." I silently congratulated myself on what I believed to be a perfect answer.   


"Indeed. You should do some reading on that. Not tonight, of course, but perhaps tomorrow. In short, the Killing Curse is one of the most powerful spells a wizard can perform, and it feels unnatural to carry any excess magic once the spell is cast. Naturally, the body's defenses work to return itself to the state it was in before the casting."   


"So it's...it's an attack of magic on the body."   


"Your body _is_ meant to carry the burden of the Unforgivable Curses, Percy. Never doubt that. These curses take work, but they are not unnatural. I have no doubt that you will be able to execute them perfectly in time, but you must condition yourself to handle the unusual physical and mental strain."   


"Like an athlete," I said absently.   


"An excellent comparison. You do know what happens when you put yourself through too much physical stress in one day without preparation, correct?"   


Memories of waking up sore the morning after snowball fights and impromptu Quidditch games came to me. "The body retaliates. The next day, I'm in pain." It was pain I could feel even now, not the usual stiffness in my muscles but more an exhaustion, something that had drained every energy reserve in my body.   


"Many wizards, especially those who are less experienced with the curse, laugh to release the excess pressure. Some cry. Others find themselves unable to stand, or they may scream."   


"Or lose consciousness," I replied, blushing.   


"I still expect that you will come to the study tonight at your usual time, Percy," said Mr. Malfoy, standing and looking down at me.   


Pulling the blankets tighter to my body, I felt insulted that he would so much as suggest that I would let one exhaustive session deter me from my lessons, but I kept the irritation from my voice, replacing it with resolve.   


"Absolutely, sir."   


_Avada._   


Not all the curses I performed after that night came out as well as the first one. For nearly a month I practiced on spiders and slightly larger insects. Mr. Malfoy lectured me time and time again about how hard I would have to work to succeed and prove my worth to our colleagues, and I knew that this, being able to perform this curse impeccably, would be a big step in the right direction. Over time, I could feel changes in my body, which I knew from reading the books Mr. Malfoy loaned me were a sign of my becoming accustomed to channeling greater amounts of magic. I had an easier time getting up in the morning, was more energetic throughout the day, and on Fridays and Saturdays, the nights Mr. Malfoy kept me late for practice, I didn't fall asleep within minutes of finishing the spell.   


While I was mostly successful, there were times when I failed and felt miserable for being so inept in front of Mr. Malfoy. I think the worst came when the rat I thought I had killed started scurrying over Mr. Malfoy's desk five minutes after I performed the curse. Mr. Malfoy ended up killing the rat himself. I Apparated home and, shamed, didn't return to the Malfoy house for a week. When I returned, I was lectured for an hour and spent the rest of the night practicing the word articulation and wand movements separately, like I had in the beginning. Mr. Malfoy didn't ask me to perform the curse for another week after that, and instead made me read volumes on the Dark Arts and specifically, the Unforgivable Curses. Upon returning to practice, I found that I had weakened over the time I had spent away. I managed to kill another spider, but my body had atrophied in the absence of handling a powerful curse on a regular basis. My catharsis now was not laughter but tears, dripping down my chin onto my chest as I sobbed for no apparent reason, and for the second time I awoke the next morning in a strange bedroom, my clothes on a nearby chair.   


That is not to say, of course, that I did not improve. One night, after a series of successful kills, Mr. Malfoy smiled at me and said my practice was paying off.   


"Practice makes perfect, sir," I said, returning his smile, rotating my wand in my fingers.   


"'Practice makes perfect," he said, his tone slightly mocking. "A well-intended statement, though misguided."   


"How so?"   


"Practice does not make perfect. _Perfect_ practice makes perfect."   


_Kedavra._   


Once it was established that I could easily perform the spell and control the amounts of magic I channeled, Mr. Malfoy had me work on ignoring outside stimuli. He would play music so loud my ears rang for hours afterwards, or conjure extra candles and light them all, so it looked like bright noon at midnight. I worked through these distractions, though it was difficult. Sight and sound were conquered, but touch...touch confounded me, as I was never a tactile person and very skittish about letting people into my space. He knew this, too, not from anything I expressed to him verbally but from the way I instinctively stepped back when he stood too close. From the moment I recoiled, he knew my weakness. He made it a point, then, to intimidate me physically.   


I expected that he would cause pain, and he did. It was never enough to cause any permanent damage, but he would twist my arm or perform a lesser degree of the Cruciatus Curse. These particular sessions wearied me faster, and often I would be unconscious before midnight.   


"You have nearly mastered performing the curse against pain, Percy, and I am proud of you," Mr. Malfoy told me one night as I stood, naked from the waist up and fresh from the kill of a raccoon, in my usual place in front of his desk.   


"Thank you, sir. It is my goal to accomplish its performance under any circumstance," I replied.   


He Transfigured a water glass into a raven and froze it in place on his desk. "There is one physical distraction that you have not yet mastered." In a swirl of black silk, he moved to stand behind me. "Until now, I have tested you on your ability to fight pain and discomfort, have I not?"   


"Of course, sir." My shoulders and joints ached with the memory.   


"Pain, however, is only half the equation." He gestured to the raven, releasing the spell that kept it stationary. Pocketing his wand, he placed his left hand on my hip. "Cast the curse."   


For a moment I paused, wondering why he hadn't removed his hand from my hip, but I repeated the words "under any circumstance" in my head until I felt ready to cast. When that moment came, he still hadn't moved. I took that as another challenge, another opportunity to prove my abilities against his distractions. As I raised my wand and drew air to speak, I felt the deliberate stream of his breath against the back of my neck. Surprised by the sensation, I hesitated between words and the spell missed my target. The result was one very live raven and one very gaping hole in Mr. Malfoy's desk, which he repaired with a flick of his wand. Humiliated, I turned to face him, but couldn't look him in the eye.   


"I'm sorry, sir."   


"Do not apologize." He lifted my chin so I had no choice but to look him in the eye. I squirmed, suddenly embarrassed to be without most of my clothing. "Perform the spell."   


He centered the raven on his desk again, and moved to stand behind me. Still, his hand stayed on my hip. I shuddered and bit back the question of why he was touching me like that. Wasn't this a little...intimate...for the nature of these sessions?   


"Sir, I don't think-"   


The sonority of his voice was calm, deliberate, icy. "Percy, perform the spell."   


He didn't remove his hand from my waist, and it took me much longer than usual to gather the strength to cast. I pitched forward over the desk once the green light flashed and the raven tipped to the side. Though I caught myself before crashing to the floor, Mr. Malfoy wrapped his arm around my chest. He held me in place, the warmth of his body a contrast to the cooler air in the room.   


He pulled back slightly, but kept a pressure between my shoulder blades, throwing off my center of gravity and making it impossible for me to stand. One of his hands skimmed over my neck and down my back, resting under the waistband of my trousers. He pressed the tips of his fingers into the base of my spine, and I was horrified to find pressure mounting below my belt. In that moment, I wanted to run from that library and never return. This was wrong. For a teacher to touch his student in instruction was one thing, but this...   


But this _was_ instruction. Of course. I knew these feelings, the spread of heat, the shift of thought. I remembered Penelope Clearwater, the way being close to her made me feel this same way. That this was Mr. Malfoy conjuring this venomous haze of distraction, eroticism, and tuition was...it was beyond terrifying, but at the same time, I relished the tension he created between us. It was the alter image to the cuts and bruises he inflicted, to the Cruciatus Curse and the way he would twist my hair between his fingers.   


"You must learn to shut out the world," he whispered, his breath warm in my ear. His other hand was on my shoulder. "Do you understand?"   


"I..." How could I respond? I understood things for which there were no words. I willed myself to think of the most mundane thing possible. "I...Yes, sir." It took all my strength to keep my voice from quivering.   


"I'm not so sure you do," he replied. "This. You find it pleasurable."   


Did I get to give separate answers for my mind and body? "I...I don't think this is really the place to explore the concept of pleasure."   


"Is it?" Mr. Malfoy's words remained barely audible, but there was steel in them, fortitude, and he slid his fingers back and forth along the skin on my lower back. "If you have explored pain, why not pleasure? As you can see, it is sometimes a more effective deterrent than pain. I have taught you the latter, and you must also learn the former."   


_Avada._   


I had waited for this night for months, or was it years? By now, it didn't matter. All that existed was myself and my colleagues, uniformed in black hooded robes and white masks. Our meeting that night started as it always did, in ritual and promises. Business, however, was suspended for the evening. Tension knotted my shoulders as the opening ceremony progressed. Instead of reciting the opening rituals, I took a series of deep, relaxing breaths. Mr. Malfoy was right. The pressure here, even before I began, was a thousand times greater than in his office. Here, I had to impress the Dark Lord and the other members of the circle. An audience.   


Everyone remained standing at the end of the opening service, and I stepped forward from my place in the circle. The room was silent, and the Dark Lord nodded. The doors behind me opened. I didn't dare turn to look at those coming into the room, but I heard two distinct sets of footsteps. As the entrants came into view, I saw that they each flanked a young man. He was barefoot and bruised, his clothes torn and his hair in disarray. Though he looked weary, and I assumed he had been struggling against his captors for some time, there was fight in his eyes.   


Recognition stirred in the pit of my stomach as they presented me with my subject. I knew him, of course, as well as I knew myself, knew the long lines of his hands and the fall of his red hair and the way his ears turned pink when he was angry. As my first subject, my first proof that I had learned one of the most difficult curses known to the wizarding world, he could not have been more perfect. Though I knew it was forbidden, I wanted to touch him, learn all the things I couldn't learn through sight and sound, learn everything that I hadn't known since he was born.   


The Dark Lord stood from his chair, walked in front of the captured man, and lifted his chin in the same manner that Mr. Malfoy had lifted mine in my moment of shame.   


"Ronald Weasley," the Dark Lord stated, and looked to me while still holding Ron. I stayed in my spot, unmoving. I was not surprised by who they had brought to me. All the firsts, Mr. Malfoy told me, were not a test of skill, but a test of mettle. As such, I had all along suspected that my youngest brother might be the one they chose for me. I certainly had no doubt that my technique was flawless, every imperfection eradicated by hours under Mr. Malfoy's tutelage, but the reality of Ron standing in front of me, beaten and...I couldn't...   


I couldn't let them throw me off course like this.   


Though Ron stood tall and courageous, I could feel his fear. Under my hood, I shook my head. I couldn't let his emotions get to me. This was something unexpected, something Mr. Malfoy had failed to mention to me, that the subject might have strong emotions, which could transfer to the caster. I had to isolate myself from anything that might distract me from my performance. He had been chosen because the other members of the circle thought the sight of him would make me freeze, remind me of the bond I had with him. I saw their tricks. I knew they hoped I would not have the nerve to perform the curse, but if nothing else, I do not fail to rise to an occasion.   


_Kedavra._   


I reached into the pocket of my robes and withdrew my wand, and when I presented it, Ron flew into a panic, struggling against the guards that held him in place. Watching him gave me pause. I didn't want him like this, begging, pleading, cursing, calling me a coward, but I didn't get a say in the matter, either. Everyone in the circle took a step back. I raised my wand, and his screams amplified. For a moment, I said a silent thank you to Mr. Malfoy for all the times he had forced me to perform the curse under duress of sound.   


I inhaled, exhaled, and closed my eyes, willing the sounds of the room to fade. After a moment, I heard nothing but the rush of breath and blood in my ears, reducing the room to nothing but myself, my wand, and my brother. As I had so many times before, I started to channel the magic, exercising my greatest effort in making the task look effortless.   


This casting was different from any one I had done before, fed by the energy of the other people in the room. They seemed to share their abilities with me. Rather than flow from the bottom, the magic enveloped me. It permeated my robes and condensed on my skin, soaking into my bones. The tiny hairs on my arms and neck stood on end. Every ounce of liquid in my body formed a whirlpool, circling in time to the pulse of magic, synchronizing with my heartbeat.   


_ Avada.   
_

Kedavra.   


Avada.   


Kedavra.   


"Avada Kedavra!"   


The green light, a byproduct of the combustion of magic and my own energies, was so bright that I was temporarily blinded. When I regained my vision, everything in the room had a faint orange cast to it. It was suddenly stifling under my hood and robes, so I removed my mask and lowered my hood, welcoming the cooler air.   


The spell...had I done it correctly? Ron was on the floor, his body immaculate and immobile. Rushing forward, I knelt over him. For a moment I panicked, and reached for the pulse point on his neck. Relief encompassed me as I felt no signs of life. Everything had gone as planned.   


I finally allowed myself to relax, and when I stood up I felt momentarily dizzy. Steadying myself as the black spots cleared my eyes, I stood and walked back to my place in the circle. When I turned around, the Dark Lord congratulated me. I savored his words, knowing that they could be the last compliment I heard from him for a very long time. Though I remained in control of my actions, I was elated. I had done it. I had accomplished everything everyone in the circle doubted I could. I had performed one of the most difficult curses known to wizarding kind, and I had done it in front of an audience, with pressure. The target had died swiftly, painlessly. I had achieved magical excellence, every atom of magic balanced and working in symbiosis. I had conquered Ron's soul, just the way the Killing Curse should allow me to do.   


I wanted to watch Ron for a few minutes more, to visually prove to myself that I had mastered the curse, but they removed his body from the room. That, however, was no longer my concern. This performance would move me forward in the hierarchy of the Death Eaters, I was sure. From here, there could be leadership, decision-making powers, a voting voice in the organization. This proof of my magical ability was going to rebuild my reputation here and show everyone not just who I was, but who I was going to be. Touching the smooth grip of my wand in my pocket, I relaxed into my place in the circle, fixing in my mind the memory of everything this night had been.   


Perfection.   



End file.
